It Will Be Me (Re-Write)
by Hyperteenager24
Summary: A selection of incidents where John helped one of his family members, and then they returned the favour
1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened, Gordon limped into the kitchen with a cut on his forehead.

It wasn't a serious cut, nothing more than a small nick above his right eye. Normally, John wouldn't even have spotted it, but ever since the hydrofoil accident, things haven't exactly been normal (not that you could ever call their family normal to begin with).

John often found himself watching Gordon, almost as if to reassure himself that his younger brother was still there. That he was real and not just some wayward daydream that would shatter at the next phone call.

But Gordon was alive, and he was probably not going to take care of that cut by himself.

So, he walked over to his younger brother and flicked the hair away from the injury, so that he could examine it further. "How did you manage that?"

Cuts and bruises meant very little to his brothers, so John was a little surprised when Gordon's eyes shadowed over for a fraction of a second before he answered.

"You worry too much Johnny!" Gordon beamed, "I was tinkering with one of the cars and nicked myself. No big deal."

It didn't make any sense.

Virgil and Scot liked tinkering with the cars, not Gordon.

John knew he wasn't the most observant of people, often preferring to bury himself in his books. However, even he was aware that ever since the hydrofoil incident, Gordon had been… distant. Everyone else had been giving him the space, even if they wanted to do the opposite.

Later in the day, John cautiously asked Scott about the cut, frowning when Scott told him that Gordon had acquired in it the bathroom.

A completely different story from what he told John.

None of this made sense.

Tapping his pen across the desk, John made mental notes of everything that he knew. Gordon had finally gotten rid of his sling a few days ago, and his physiotherapy had only just begun properly, so he was probably still a little awkward in using his right arm.

It was just a small cut. John shook his head; he was probably just being paranoid. His Dad did always say he over-thinks things a little too much

…

The next day, Gordon came into the kitchen with an ugly cut below his left ear.

John didn't even bother asking this time, already texting Scott and Virgil.

The only problem was that they didn't know.

Ignoring their quiet orders to leave it alone, John decided it was time to do some sleuthing. When the sun rose high in the sky, he followed Gordon right up to the pool, where his younger brother hesitated, a look of grim determination on his face.

He was tense… scared.

His hands curled into knotty fists and he moved to sit on the edge of the pool, feet hovering just above the surface.

It was then that John remembered the paper on PTSD that he'd read on soldiers that had gone through waterboarding. There were statements made by the soldiers, where they described the water going up their noses, how it felt to keep struggling and falling and thrashing and never able to rise as their lungs filled with water.

They were the lucky ones, but the soldiers didn't see it that way. They described how everything changed for them. How ordinary things they always took for granted, seemed different. Things like showers, baths… and swimming pools.

Would almost drowning in an accident cause the same sort of issues?

As Gordon dipped his feet into the water, John was already moving forwards, grabbing Gordon as his brother yelped and almost fell directly into the water, eyes glazed over in panic. The area around the pool was still wet from Alan's earlier venture into the water, so his heels slid against the slippery ground.

In his panic, Gordon hit John a few times, but John ignored that. Instead, he concentrated on his younger brother, intent on calming him down. His fingers curled tightly around Gordon's wrist, the pulse fast and erratic, reminding John of the time he caught a bird one day as a child.

Eventually, Gordon's body crumpled in defeat, his voice trembling as he whispered, "I could have done it… you didn't have to- "

"- You were panicking." John interrupted, a confused look on his face, "You would have drowned."

"You don't know that!" Gordon pushed John away weakly, even this push sending the skinnier man lying flat against the damp ground, as Gordon got to his feet and make a hasty retreat back to the house.

….

The next morning, John frowned when Gordon wouldn't meet his eyes over breakfast.

The rest of the day continued in the same vein, Gordon carefully avoiding John which wasn't difficult as John locked himself in his room, refusing to come out until his Dad came in, asking for an explanation.

John felt like his insides were full of lead as he explained what happened, head getting lower and lower with every word.

"Oh Johnny." Slowly, giving his son the chance to pull away, Jeff placed an arm around John's shoulders, feeling his son stiffen for a moment, before relaxing, "Gordon is…. Gordon is going through a rough time right now, and he might not think so right now, but he knows you were trying to help."

"I don't understand why he's angry though."

Jeff sighed wearily, "Just… give him today to calm down."

"But, why was he angry?"

"John. Just leave it."

…

Years later, John could still remember the small, unassuming smile that Gordon gave him the next day. It was nothing like the carelessly, casual smirk he used to give to them, instead, it was a small, hesitant little thing that peeks out shyly.

They let the matter drop and that incident was never mentioned again. Gordon got a therapist the next day and was back to swimming laps in the pool in just over two months.

…..

At first, John tried to laugh it off.

He was grateful for the injuries, using them as an excuse not to go back up there, which his Father leapt on. The man had been happy to let John rest on the sofa and read a book.

And then the repairs for TB5 were finished and Scot casually mentioned that Alan and John might like to go up and see exactly what had been done.

What could John say?

With Alan eagerly taking control of TB3, under Jeff's supervision, John was at the back, fingers gripping the armrest like a vice as they headed up into space.

"Johnny?"

John opened his eyes, to see his Father giving him a concerned look.

"Johnny, are you okay?"

John opened his mouth to say his was fine, only for the words to get caught in his throat…. And then he threw up.

He threw up twice more as Jeff ordered Alan to turn the ship around and head back to Tracy Island. Once TB3 landed, John still couldn't muster up the energy to get up, feeling shivery and weak.

To the others, something was clearly wrong. John was completely rigid, his breathing shallow and his eyes squeezed shut.

He could still remember the sensation of having his ship blow up in his face, the burn of the flames, the lack of oxygen, the sound of those damned warning klaxons still ringing in his ears.

"What's wrong with him?" Alan asked, frowning in disappointment at not getting to see the new TB5.

Before anyone else could answer, Gordon spoke up. "He's scared." He moved in front of John and knelt down, "John, look me in the eyes. Breathe with me and count to ten. In…. and out. In…. and out."

John fixated on his brother's face and calming voice, hearing his Father speak up behind him.

"Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I see how scared he was about going back up there?" Jeff sounded devastated, "I should have seen it, he's my son!"

"Dad, you know what John is like." Scott sighed, "Don't you remember how Gordon was?"

The rest of the conversation went unsaid, as John finally managed to calm down his breathing, voice a little wobbly as he whispered a weak "Hey."

"Johnny." Gordon frowned, "How long have you been terrified about going back into space?"

"… Since we got back to the Earth."

Jeff cursed again behind them.

"Johnny… why didn't you tell anyone."

"I'm… the Space guy. If I can't go back up to Five, then who can?"

"We would work something out." Jeff stated firmly, "We could make it automatic, like I wanted to do until you volunteered to man it."

"But- "

"- We can all talk about it later." Gordon sighed, "I can hear some pancakes calling our names."

As Scott and Alan led Johnny into the kitchen, Gordon turned to his Father and sighed. "I-I think Johnny has PTSD."

"Scott was just saying the same. So, what do we do?"

Gordon shrugged, "We'll take it slow… Johnny stopped me from just diving into the pool when I was suffering after my own accident. I'll get the number of my therapist."

"Gordon…"

Gordon hesitated, turning back to his Dad.

"… Is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah Dad… Johnny will be fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Why couldn't he stick up for himself?

Alan pulled his hood further over his face as soon as the bell rang, pretending to finish his work…. Not that he was paying attention to the texts to begin with. His teacher glanced up from his book and frowned.

"Mister Tracy," He sighed wearily, "Any reason why you're still here?"

Instead of answering, Alan grabbed his bag and raced out of the door, eyes flickering up to the clock.

Quarter to four… everyone would have left by now.

….

Knowing that Scott didn't have time to pick him up, Virgil and Gordon were doing after-school activities and John had study group, Alan started to walk home.

Walking out of the school grounds, his steps faltered as he glanced around.

Before he could cross the road, he was yanked off balance, prompting him to start thrashing.

"Let me go! Let me go!" He spat, trying to pull himself free. The older teen's fingers were latched into his hoodie like fishhooks, making him feel like a trapped fish.

"Shut up." Another boy ordered, jerking the bag off of Alan's shoulder.

"Hey! That's mine ass- " Alan was cut off as he was thrown against a wall, not having time to dwell on the pain, because the guy who'd dragged him down the alleyway had fisted the front of his shirt, yanking him up to meet his eyes.

"Weren't you told to shut the fuck up?!"

His spit flew into Alan's face, who winced in disgust. He was slammed against the wall again as the older teen growled, "Fucking Tracy's. Always making us look bad."

Alan frowned in confusion. He'd never seen these guys before in his life. In fact, he was pretty sure they were in an older grade. "What are you-" He then stopped.

He had seen this guy before.

This was one of the guys who had gotten into trouble before for harassing John.

"Weren't you told not to do this before?!" Alan yelped, "Last year, when you hit Joh- "

"- Yeah." The older teen smirked, "And I was told not to bother that freak again, which is why I'm here with you." He then propelled his fist into Alan's abdomen.

Alan's breath flew out of him and he crumpled to the ground when the teen let go of his hoodie. He chocked on a few coughs and debated whether it was better to stand up or stay down.

A good Tracy always fights though.

Slowly, he raised himself onto shaking legs as the two bullies burst into laughter.

"Well I'll give you something." The leader chuckled, "You're braver than your brother. He just lay there crying!"

"Shut up!"

This earned him another punch to the face, causing him to stagger back. Blood dripped from his nose like water. He rubbed it with the back of his hand, but it wouldn't stop pouring.

"Telling me to shut up like you're better than me!"

Alan tried to dodge the next blow, ducking under the teen's arm to land a punch of his own, only for his arms to be pinned behind his back. As another punch was landed to his stomach, Alan crumpled instantly, his knees hitting the ground with a thud, despite being held up still by his wrists.

The puddle beneath him soaked through his trousers and bit at his raw knees. He was dragged around for a bit, knees scraping across the wet asphalt, before being kicked in the stomach. Alan lurched, coughing and choking on air, heaving and gasping for breath, forcing him to clench his eyes shut.

He hated this.

This was humiliating.

"Alan?"

Alan's eyes flew open.

A familiar figure hovered near the entrance.

"Hey Johnny boy!" The leader called out, gesturing for his friend to drop Alan, "Fancy seeing you here."

John clutched the strap of his bag nervously, moving a little closer. "What are you doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like. Your Daddy might be protecting you, but he isn't protecting this one." As he prepared to kick Alan again, the younger teen squeezed his eyes closed, preparing for the pain.

Only for nothing to happen.

When he opened up his eyes again, Alan frowned at the sight of a familiar NASA bag in front of him. Looking up, he gasped at the sight of John holding bag out in front of him, stopping the other boys from hitting him.

"It's not Alan's fault." John was clearly trying to sound braver than what he felt, "You can't go after him just because you can't go after me anymore!"

The lackey looked as though he was going argue, only to be stopped when the leader held up his hand. "C'mon." he muttered to his friend, "Let's get out of here."

Once they were out of sight, John rushed over to Alan, not seeming to care that he'd dropped his bag in a puddle. "Alan, are you okay?"

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine." Alan didn't want to mention how embarrassed he was, having John save him.

"Are you sure? You look like you- "

"- I said I'm fine!"

Hurt, John took a step back, throwing his now wet bag over his shoulder again, before turning away. "We should get back home." He whispered, "Scott can help clean you up."

"We're not telling Scott about this!"

Scott didn't need to hear about how John had to save him.

When John reached out to help, Alan batted his hand furiously. John blinked at him, but before he could ask, Alan just muttered, "I can walk on my own."

"I was just going to help you up."

"I can do that too!" Alan snapped, trying not to wince as his side gave a twinge of pain jut as it started to rain.

John quickly pulled an umbrella out of his bag and opened it up, holding it above his brother and himself. "Alright." He still looked slightly hurt, "Let's just get home."

…

Alan couldn't sleep.

He'd been listening to the rain pattering on the windows for the last hour, or something like that, and he just couldn't sleep.

His Dad was sympathetic towards him, vowing to speak to the Principal the next morning to deal with this bullying problem once and for all. Of course, John also got some attention, with Jeff both praising and scolding his middle child for his brave intervention.

Before he could dwell on the matter further, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Alan?"

Alan flinched slightly in his bed, curling up as much he could as the door opened to reveal John.

"Can't you sleep?"

"I'm fine." Alan muttered, not wanting John's concern.

"… You don't have to deal with bullying alone you know."

When Alan remained silent, John sighed, backing out of the room again. "Sorry." He whispered, "Try and get some sleep."

…

Years later, Alan would be reminded of this event as he left the office. Being the youngest, he'd managed to avoid travelling to the Tracy Industry offices for almost five years, only to be cornered a few weeks ago.

He was lucky that John had agreed to come with him during his rare downtime.

Unfortunately, John didn't appear too lucky at the moment, as he was cornered out in the parking lot, clutching his work satchel to his chest.

Clearly not a pleasant conversation then.

Alan wasted no time, running over and moving to stand by his older brother's side. "Hey." He smirked, forcing himself to remain calm, "What's going on here?"

"Alan, we were- " John cut himself off, choosing to shrug instead.

"We were just talking, right Johnny?" One of the men muttered, "We're old friends from high school."

And that, Alan knew to be a lie.

Sad as it was to say, John didn't really have any friends. Alan narrowed his eyes at the group, trying to remember where he'd seen their faces before.

And then it hit him.

"No. You're not." He said simply, "Now, you have two choices. One, you can just walk away and we can forget all this ever happened, or, I can call security and you can explain to a court why you were harassing one of Jeff Tracy's sons in his own company parking lot."

The group all glanced at one another, almost like they were unsure about what they should chose.

"I think we're done here." Alan stated, trying hard to keep his voice steady, "Leave."

Begrudgingly, they moved to leave, but not without some rather nasty glares.

Once they were out of sight, Alan turned to John, frowning in concern, "Are you alright?"

John nodded, a fond smile on his face. "Thank you… you handled that a lot better this time around."

"I've matured you know. Grown up." Alan then winced, "Well, I'm more mature than Gordon anyway."

"It's not hard."


	3. Chapter 3

John hated how thin the walls were sometimes.

He could hear Virgil in the throws of a nightmare, sobbing slightly, his breath hitching.

Gently placing his book on his bedside table, he crept out of his room, sending a worried look towards his father's door, before shuffling over to Virgil's room, hesitating over the doorknob, before making his way inside.

Avoiding the various art supplies and musical instruments, John crept over to Virgil's bed, frowning at the almost panicked look on the sleeping boy's face and the way he clutched at the pillows.

How many times had he gone through the same thing after the avalanche?

How many times had he seen his mother reaching out for him through the cold snow, trying to comfort him as every bit of his body seemed to hurt?

How many times had the image of his dying mother morphed into something cruller? Bloodied lips spitting out accusations of murder. How many times had he dreamed of his own mother accusing him of being the cause of her death?

Virgil's panicked whimpers seemed to get louder and louder, until there was the fear that he would wake up the other members of the home.

"Virgil?" John poked his brother in the arm, frowning when it had no effect, "Virgil, you need to wake up."

Nothing.

Deciding to up it to a shove, John yelped as Virgil suddenly shot upright, with a bellow that would have been enough to wake the dead.

"What are you doing John?" Virgil groaned, swinging himself to the edge of the bed and resting his head on his hands with a heavy sigh.

John just bit his lip nervously, eyes glancing over the photos on the bedside table, lingering on the one of Virgil and their mother, the pair of them beaming as Virgil held up an award for his piano performance.

A happier time.

"M'sorry." John mumbled, "I just wanted to help."

Virgil took a deep breath, before shaking his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just- "

"- Having a nightmare."

Virgil then seemed to notice what John had been looking at and sighed, "I never wanted to bother you with them." He sighed, "Not after all you went through afterwards."

"W-we're brothers though." John immediately protested, "I'm meant to help, we're meant to help each other! Mum- " A flash of pain seemed to stab him in the heart, as he took a deep breath, "Mum always told us that."

"… You're right." Virgil narrowed his eyes at his brother, "You haven't been sleeping have you?"

John just shrugged.

"Come on…" Virgil shuffled over, holding up the duvet in silent encouragement, "… we might as well suffer together."

John slowly climbed into the bed, cuddling up next to his brother, his eyes sliding shut almost instantly.

He didn't hear the whispered 'thank you' or feel the gentle embrace of someone pulling him closer, lulling him into a sound and dream-free sleep.

…Many years later…

John woke with a desperate gasp for air.

Thunderbird 5 was falling to pieces all around him. He was running out of oxygen… he was going to die. His lungs were burning, there was a ringing in his ear and-

"John! John!"

John jerked back at the shock of the sound, too clear and too close as he opened his eyes wide, vaguely making out the shape of a face in the darkness of his room.

"John, it's me. It's Virgil, you're okay."

John felt his breaths get longer and longer, his heart slowing to a vaguely normal pace. He breathed in deep, not smelling oil, blood or smoke.

He's not on Thunderbird 5… he's at home.

The Hood wasn't there, it was Virgil.

He drew in shuddering breath, closed his eyes and clutched at Virgil's t-shirt, pulling him closer silently so that John could curl up next to him, pressing his forehead against Virgil's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Gentle, strong arms reached around him slowly, one curling around John's shoulders, the other running calloused fingers through John's hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Virgil asked, after almost ten minutes passed in silence.

John thought about it for a moment, still shaking slightly.

"It-it was just about… what happened." He whispered, "I'll be fine." He focused on his breathing for a moment, remaining where he was until he realised just how close he was to Virgil, prompting him to roll away.

And then he started to shake again.

He didn't even have to say anything this time, as Virgil reached over and placed a hand on John's shoulder. "John… come here."

John went, pretending that he did so out of obedience for his brother and not because he knew he'd be shaking all night.

He was home.

He was loved.


End file.
